She scans me again, a pull in her brow, “But, they’re bikini cut.”
I roll my eyes. “They’re not fucking bikini cut, whatever the fuck that is. They’re regular briefs.” I slip my fingers in the waistline and snap the elastic.
“I thought you wore boxer briefs.” She’s now nibbling on her finger, still scanning my body.
“I do. I wear both. Underwear models wear these all the time. Hell, David Beckham wears these.” No idea what her issue is. They keep everything snug; sometimes it’s nice to not have your cock turning into a propeller in your pants.
From the way her eyes are eating me whole, for the first time, I feel exposed around her. And if she keeps it up with those sultry eyes, she’s going to be feeling just as exposed as I am. That would be when I rip off her clothing.
“Oh. They’re um, they’re nice.” She turns away and stares at her feet.
Not going to work, sweet Emma. I lift her chin so she’s forced to make eye contact. “Nice? That’s all? They’re just nice? I’m standing here, in front of you, being a sexy male nurse for your toe in a pair of very snug briefs and all you have to say is they’re nice?”
“Wh-what do you want me to say?” She shivers. “That I like your man thigh? That your abs are unfair to look at because they’re so well defined? That those things,” she gestures to the V in my waist, “are like valleys headed straight to your penis? That I can clearly see the definition of your dick, including your meatus, and it’s . . . it’s . . .” She stumbles. “It’s thick.” She presses her hand against her forehead as her cheeks redden. “Oh God, you have thick dick.” Is that a compliment? It almost sounds like a disease, like Elephantitus.
“Uh, thank you?”
“Thick dick. You have a thick dick. Of course, you’re Mr. Thick Dick, what else would you be? Skinny Minnie Ween-Ween? No, you’re thick dick.” Her hands are now in her hair, pulling on the strands, acting on the border of insanity and losing her ever-loving mind. Still muttering, she shakes her head and says, “Thick dick in the tight black bikini bottoms.”
“They’re not . . .” I huff out my frustration. “They’re not fucking bikini bottoms. They’re normal briefs.”
She shakes her head. “Not for thick dick and milky man thighs.” Milky? More like manly man thighs. I do squats. She hops off the counter in her fit of insanity and then starts hopping on one leg. “Shit, my toe.” Still hopping, she pushes off my chest with her hand and propels herself out of the bathroom.
“Where are you going? Let me fix your foot.”
“Nope, nope, nope. I’m good. Just . . . go upstairs and put pants on. No one wants you walking around with your scrotum dangling between your legs.” It does that every fucking day. What’s the difference?
“Well, it’s not going to dangle from my ears like earrings, babe. The scrotum is kind of a set thing.”
She makes it to her bedroom and slams her door shut. Well . . . fuck. She was the one who woke me up, the one who disturbed my slumber. She’s not just going to hobble away like that. No way.
Not caring what she’s doing on the other side of the door, I fling it open and see her sitting on her bed, rocking back and forth on her hands. “Emma—”
“Tucker, I’m going to stop you right there. It’s been a pretty humiliating night for me, with the fall and the staring and the thick-dick mumbling. I would like to just move on from this moment and forget it all happened. I don’t want to hash it out with you.” She glances up at me and says, “Rule number eight, no mentioning thick dick . . . ever.”
“But—”
“Hey, rule number six.” She lifts an eyebrow at me to acknowledge what she agreed to when it came to the rule I set.
I grit my teeth and move my jaw back and forth. “Fine. Do you need help with your foot?”
“No.” She keeps her eyes trained on the floor, dismissing me.
Fuck me. I want to talk about this little encounter, about the oddity of it all, and about those damn wandering eyes of hers that have this thick dick getting thicker by the second. But I’m going to respect her wish and push her in other ways.
She might have dismissed me tonight, but this is far from over.
She’s attracted to me. She was speechless as she gazed at my body. She rambled about my fucking dick. I think she wanted me to kiss her.
And fuck, did I want to kiss her.
Hold her.
Touch her.
Lick her.
Devour her.
Fuck her.
But what’s surprising and a huge mind fuck?
It seems like my friend Emma wants to fuck me just as badly as I want to fuck her.
Chapter Thirteen
EMMA
“Everything feels great here. Emma, come over and feel around for any lumps.”
The woman with the bushiest nipples I’ve ever seen lies on the exam table, in all her glory, tits out, ready to be felt up.
It’s woman’s health week and we’re shadowing OBGYNs to determine if it’s a field we’re interested in. Let’s just say, I have no desire to be scooting around vaginas day in and day out. Nope, no interest at all.
“Oh, that’s okay.” I wave my hand as a dismissal. “I felt the last lady’s breasts. You feel one, you feel them all, you know.”
“Not even in the slightest,” Dr. Tinkle scoffs. Yes, Dr. Mary Ann Tinkle. Might as well call her Dr. Pee Pee and get it over with. Dr. Pee Pee to exam room four, there is an immature urethra waiting for you . . .
“Come over here.” Dr. Tinkle turns to Debra and says, “Students can be a little gun-shy when it comes to sexual organs.”
Thank you, Dr. Tinkle, for making this that much more uncomfortable.
Holding back my groan, I mechanically stick out my arm from my side and press around Debra’s breasts like Dr. Tinkle taught me earlier . . . on her own breasts. And when the nurse walked in her office to let us know her nine o’clock arrived, that didn’t make things weird at all, you know, with my hands on Dr. Tinkle’s naked breasts and all.
“These seem very soft, no lumps detected.” Stepping back, I clap my hands together. “Good job, Debra, on not growing the lumps. Well done, breasts.” I give her an awkward thumbs up and keep my distance.
Please, God. Please remove me from my misery.
“Thank you, Emmit,” Debra says condescendingly. Total bitch, right?
She’s been nasty to me ever since I asked if it was normal for patients to leave their socks on during examinations. It just seemed odd. They’re naked beside a thin garment that’s open in the front but wearing socks? I mean, at this point, with your cooter winking at everyone, you might as well remove the socks and be done with it.
Dr. Tinkle starts moving things around on her little metal table and scans Debra’s chart. Thankfully, the old PAP smear has already been done, so I think we should be finishing up.
“Do the cysts on your uterus still hurt? Has the birth control helped?”